ALL IT TAKES IS A WEE BIT O' BLARNEY
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: A St. Patrick's Day tale. Sam's a bit disconcerted to find out it's St. Patrick's Day-a day Dean relishes for the green beer and a bit more. He knows that means one thing-a potential gastronomic disaster in the making.


**Disclaimer****: **Sadly, neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the Winchesters. Thank you, Eric Kripke, for creating them.

**A/N:** Blarney: 1. flattering or wheedling talk; cajolery.

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><p><strong>ALL IT TAKES IS A WEE BIT O' BLARNEY<strong>

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

Sam glanced up from his laptop when the bathroom door opened emitting a cloud of steam, ethereally dancing around his older brother as he strolled out along with it. Spying the semioccasional smile on Dean's face, Sam quirked an eyebrow in query. "What are you so happy about?"

Grabbing a deep green t-shirt from his duffel, Dean pulled it over his head. Dark spots dotted the soft material where droplets of water remained untouched by the feckless motel towel.

"Beer."

"Beer? Seriously? I know you like your brew, bro, but…"

Smoothing the t-shirt in place and tucking it in to his well-worn jeans, Dean continued, "Not just any beer, Sammy," Dean paused to wag a finger, "_green_ beer." Dean sat and pulled on a pair of socks before stuffing his feet into his boots.

"Green beer—oh," Sam's eyes flew to the bottom corner of his laptop screen, "it's St. Patrick's Day."

"Yep. And you know what else that means…corned beef and cabbage!" Dean's eyes, as vibrant green as the faraway land of Éire itself, sparkled. Another rare occurrence of late.

Sam's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, God—corned beef and cabbage…" He cringed. Dean loved his corned beef and—shockingly—cabbage, but it DIDN'T love Dean back in any way, shape, or form. That, combined with an untold amount of green beer, was a gastronomical disaster of mythological proportions. Sam knew this well from past experience. He jumped from his seat, running a hand through his unruly hair. "You know what—I—I think I'm going get another room for tonight…and tomorrow. Maybe even tomorrow night 'cause—you know—just in case…"

Stuffing his arms into a Navy long-sleeved button down shirt, Dean chided, "Aw, c'mon Sammy O'Winchester, don't be such a spoilsport. Come with me."

"No, no—that's okay. I'd really rather stay here and drink _green tea_. Trust me."

Dean curled his nose at the thought of green tea. "Listen—think of it this way," cajoled the older Winchester, "if you come with me and we _both_ drink green beer and eat corned beef and cabbage then later we'll BOTH be toxic. See? It works perfectly. That way you don't have to bother getting an extra room, which by the way will save us money, and we'll be happy all the way around!"

"Happy? That's not exactly the word I would use for it." In truth, Sam actually liked corned beef and cabbage almost as much as his big brother, but the dish didn't like him any better than it did Dean.

"C'mon," Dean pulled a face, "it'll be fun. You gotta admit we don't get enough of that."

"Dean…"

The older Winchester bumped his shoulder into his younger sibling. "C'mon, Sammy boy…after one beer I'll even let you start drinking your girly tea without saying a thing, I promise."

Sam rolled his eyes. "But…"

"C'mon. Cold beer, hot food, a little music—even if it is that Irish stuff—what more can you ask for? And hey, maybe we'll even see some of those dancin' lassies!" When Sam still hesitated, Dean continued, "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

"Say what?"

"You know what."

"No, I really don't."

"_Please_. You're gonna make me say please."

"Actually, no. Hadn't even crossed my mind."

"Okay, fine. _PLEASE_ come with me."

Sam huffed out a breath, studying his brother's eager countenance. And caved. "All right, fine—I'll come with." He marched over to the window and shoved it wide open.

"What the heck are you doing?"

"Opening the window. We'll need as much fresh air in here as possible. And it's staying open until we leave for good, got it?"

"But…"

Sam's face rearranged into a scowl and Dean raised his arms in acquiescence. "Fine, fine. We'll just figure it all out when we get back." He grabbed his jacket, keys, and wallet. "Let's go—I'm starved!"

The younger man grabbed his hoodie and followed Dean out the door.

"You know, I think I saw a place whose sign said 'All You Can Eat'. I think we'll go there."

With a resistance equal to that of Hoover Dam, Sam held back a whimper and headed for the car.

_**AN DEIREADH**_

_**(The End)**_


End file.
